


At the bar, in the alley

by AmbriFlower



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Blow Jobs, Stranger Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-18 20:46:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16126415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmbriFlower/pseuds/AmbriFlower
Summary: Clark Kent, undercover reporter, gets more than he bargained for.orClark and a stranger are just horny





	1. Chapter 1

Clark Joseph Kent could not explain to anybody not even a judge, how this happened.   
Suddenly, surrounded by the bar's beer dunst (not that alcohol affected him), had this fire of a man, attacked his lips. Dominate them, make them submit, open with a deep moan.   
  
Filled with adrenaline and the encouraging language of his own cock, Clark had allowed the man’s lead. Followed the man with the black silky hair out, and into the nearest backgate.

 

The reward is to see a slight seductive smile and sparkling blue eyes. Jewelry only visible in the light of passing cars and the dim light from the street light.   
The gift is to be pressed, relentlessly, against the wall. Get a leg pressed in between your thighs. The adrenaline of living light floods from the pressure there. Where the stranger's muscular thigh presses against the undercover journalist's now-throbbing cock.   
A sigh leaves him while greedy hands press and feel over his hips, chest, throat and sweetly the fingers. The lips are again encouraged to allow access the now not quite so unknown person. 

 

Clark does not have to breathe, but he has to land. Land before this man, this mystery, eliminates for all reason. 

The feelings of fingers pulling on the sweater is what saves Superman. Before he assumes that he does not wear the superman costume tonight. Still, it is enough. 

 

Quickly Clark grabs the man's wrist. A little strength is applied, but no more than a human with his muscles would have the power for. It allows them to change their place in the space.   
The man with the sparkling eyes seems first shocked, a creaky laughter leaves the depth of his deep chest. 

 

Clark can not stop it, he shakes, in pure auditory pleasure. inexperienced expectation.   
  


The man, now pressed against the wall, smiles his half-mile and looks into Clark’s eyes. Allows Clark to really look at his eyes, taking inn how expanded the pupils are. How much he is wanted, sexually and raw. He is distracted from registering it before the man's thigh presses against his crotch again, inviting Clark to rub up against the pressure.

 

All plans of escape is forgotten, undesirable. So he rubs.

 

The enjoyment lures Clark into relaxing. After that it all happens very quickly. Again he finds his back against the wall. The wandering, muscular personalization of chaos for Clark's nerves is suddenly gone. No, wait, he's gone down, now busy pulling down his pants zipper.

 

Wordlessly he looks up at Clark, takes out Clark's penis, weighs it in his hand and springs on a condom, from who whisper where.

 

A happy smile grows over his face before he swallows the whole length down.   
Gasp and moan are milked out of Clark's deepest parts. The mysterious night hunter's oral cavity is so hot, wet and delicious. his tongue plays, pushes and encourages voluntary surrender.

Clark lets his fingers wrap into the soft black hair. Takes in the raw smell of the man, hidden behind layers of distractions, saving it to cold nights. He rests his hand against the skull of the man, but chooses not to take over the rhythm. Blowjobs seem to be well within the dealer's expertise anyway.

 

Clark feels what last build up. Control slipping from him. So he tries to give a warning, a courtesy that falls for uninterested ears.   
A last, almost demonstrative, pressure from a clearly experienced tongue guides Clarks to ecstasy. There, a circle under the cock head, followed by a heavy caress, indescribable, stroking his head… and he is gone.

 

When have they finished, Clark is pulled into one last kiss before the man, with a bow, turns and walks his way. Confused and satisfied, Clark leans towards the wall. Exhale and wonder what more Gotham has to offer.

***

The next day, they meet again. This time in a large office, Bruce Waynes.  

  
  



	2. Horny, close to love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can't predict what 24 hours can contain, but you can hope ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up writing a new chapter and got the beta reading help (SnippetsRUs) this time. Hope you get a nice reading experience. Feel free to give feedback about how you feel that Chapter 2 fits the mood / tune in Chapter 1

**Horny, clouse to love**

Oh, Rao, isn't he besutiful in sunlight.

Immediately, the reporter recognizes the man from the alley. 

Yes, the crazy man is less raged, more refined in his cleverly fitted suit. Prominent, wide shoulders made to touch. That hip, and let's not forget the buttocks, made of vibrating dreams. A body part created to be massaged by eager, worshiping fingers.   
Nor should Brucie’s velvety voice be forgotten. Higher in tone than the night before, and just as beautiful, he concludes. 

 

The advantage of having supersight had given him the luxury of a good view, even in the camouflaging shadows of the night. Equally now, the sunlight, flowing through the window, allows room for another form of appreciation. 

The sight of Brucie’s long, strong fingers, around the glass filled with water. 

The wide chest, a feature artfully enhanced to its full advantage. Self-conscious concentration is necessary in order not to lose control over his wandering eyes and other parts of his superbody.

 

Apropos eyes, today the blue sparkling jewels seem to be empty, reflecting Bruce’s easy laugh. Frustrated, expecting, no hoping for more, Clark is seeking signs from the man from just a few hours ago. The power of nature, full of raw, mentally present, sexual power.   
He finds himself listening to Mr. Wayne’s pulse but finds it tame. Heartbeat, deep and alive, but in the context, disinterest past the easy conversation. 

The raw smell of Bruce, sexually unobstructed man, is still there, hidden under layers of perfumed distractions bought by money.

 

Bewilderment, maybe even bafflement, dances through the interviewer.

The interviewee’s clear body language spoke false tales.

Listening to line of courteous welcome phrases seemed to insist that they had never met before. That everything was very professional and not filled with the memory of sexual excitement and release.

 

Camouflaged behind calm mannerism, Clark observes Brucie's pupils. The blue, sparkling door of the soul is clearly unaffected. No light of recognition is lit. 

They seem distracted, almost living another place. Far away from the words and the smile to his mouth.

 

In a fraction of a second, almost blushing, Clark realizes the truth. 

Clark Kent, mystical undercover journalist had a different disguise in the bar. His clothes and posture looked very different from those presented now. 

It is too much to demande of a one night stand to recognize the existence of a disguise. A mask not even Lois Lane, star reporter, has managed to see through.

 

Let's not forget, a night of 15 minute of pleasure is not a healthy breeding ground for wishes. Even when the sought-after individual is a master in his own right. With the most expressive eyes.

 

A possibility of repetition does not exist in this reality. Mr Wayne is convinced that the man in front of him is *Clark Kent, meek and mild mannered reporter*, man of no interest. 

 

This all scratches against his curiosity. The person from yesterday was not quite like the one described in newspapers and gossip magazines. No, his eyes, the words he used and the power of action, the few he had used, did not match the idea of a blunt, hedonistic playboy. 

 

Of course the man does not owe Clark anything, but unexpectedly, Clark Kent had discovered a new mystery to solve.

 

Gotham, the city that continues to surprise.

***

After the interview, and subsequent talks with important sources, Clark finds himself in the same bar. Self-confidence, based on experience, lets him come back to do his job. 

… And if Bruce, night-time bisexual, should come in, well, Clark can handle the night's surprises. At least that is what he allows himself to believe.

 

Led by a hint of hope, Kal-El finds himself a few hours later in yesterday‘s backyard. He can not resist the hope. Unfortunately, it's not Christmas Eve every day.

 

"I'll just get back in," Clark murmurs to himself. "A one-time case is enough to appreciate, no need to go over to level creepy and pitiful."

 

A movement to his side makes Clark stiffen, to listen. The sound resembles his own red cape, but less audible, comes at a fast pace towards him. An arm seizes his hip, a strangers body supports him. In order not to harm, Kal-El chooses to adapt to the movement.   
The body of what must be a man, presses against his back. Strong chest, stomach, muscular thighs hold Clark steadily as they fly in an arc, like a pendulum, up up, and to the ceiling.

 

Just to make bumps in the way of Night's Dark Knight, Clark chooses to stumble when they land. Trying to drag them both down on the dark flat roof. Petty, yes, but the man deserves it, if only a little. A choice, not permitted to succeed. His kidnapper body movement is a marvel to behold, to feel up close to his own.

  
Delighted, Clark smiled, the night has already taught him many things: 1) Batman is real, 2) He wears armor, functional and a little sexy armor, 3) The man shows tendency for impressive body control and great physical strength.

 

The conclusion is easy, even obvious. The man from Krypton allows himself a second of joy. Pleasure, like a rainbow in his blood, of having found someone else, a person with super capabilities. Next step is to find out; is this a friendly motivated superhero?

 

Oh, and the voice is modulated and deeply rasped. If he listens behind the electrical distraction .. but no, Kal-El respect the need for secrets.   
  


"Clark Kent, Reporter of the Daily Planet," begins Batman. "What are you doing here, so far from Metropolis?"

 

What, is the bat territorial? Clark Kent is just a civilian. Astonishment dances in his lungs. Not sure why, he finds the Bat’s action charming and intimidating at the same time. Clark starts to analyze his options for this first meeting.

 

Basically, the hunter is looking for information? Raising his hands up in a disarming motion, Clark changes his voice to innocent, completely harmless, controllable reporter mode.

 

"BbbbBatman, do you exist? What can I assist you with?" And just because he can, "Could you imagine giving an interview, to destroy unwanted rumors about The Batman? "

 

Batman growls, and stares, grabs him with his eyes. Breath, emitted into gasp. Clark has to stop himself from instinctively backs away. 

So this is Batman, the legend? The man who, through will alone, forces murderers to rethink their choices? 

 

"What are you doing here?" Requires the dominant man again.

  
  


"Gathering information," says the reporter. Innocently he continues, "There is a flow of drugs between our neighboring cities, as you surely know"

 

Batman hesitates, but does not confirm the truth of the claim either way. Instead, he seems to calculates. Finaly The Batman comes with a proposal. A Proposal that contains a requirement to give access to all of the information from the journalist has.

 

In an instance, inoffensive, powerless reporter act gone, Clark Joseph Kent, lion-hearted night journalist, refuses.

 

When Batman then chooses to be completely in his face, Kal-El knows another one of Batman’s little secrets. The unmistakable bodily essence. This is Bruce Wayne.

 

Superman’s response to the concluding is more instinctive than reasonable.

 

Finally relaxing, his super hearing grants him the possibility to listen. Revel in the missed sound of Bruce's heart. A beat that is living and up for a challenge. 

It makes him feel safe, even if it’s silly to respond like that.   

 

Performing without thought, Kal-El leans forward. Stops a few centimeters before their lips meet. Pending in the heat they share, he hopes. Close to desperately horny, he waits.

With (not so) subtle tricks he tries to lure Batman to cross the undesirable distance between them. Conveys a silent promise; that his, Superman’s lips are, oh, so soft and warm. Worthy of Batman's attention. The mere thought brings shivers down the alien’s spine. 

  
  


The future legend draws him closer with demanding hands. His raw, but oh so gentle, lips’ affection. Batman's obscenely luscious lips presses harder against Clark’s. Requires benevolent moans as his reward.

 

Superman sinks into the taste of lips made cold by the night wind. Waves of happy pride rages through him when he is allowed to bring these specific lips to life. Not entitled, but granted permission, to let his fingers explore the only available skin. Ending up with his fingers resting on the Bat's neck. Melting as he leans towards the steady man, the individual who requires nothing more than everything you are.

 

Fervently, containing all that his experience embodies, Superman seeks to awaken similar greed in his partner. Voraciously, when he remembers to break the surface of delightful surrender. With joyful effort, he strokes his tongue against the soft, full under lip. Happily guided by the man’s raw response. Increased self-esteem allows for a smile, and forehead to rest against forehead. Their hot breaths mingle, to taste the smell of this cold fire of a man.

 

The Bat’s glare is wolfishly hot, promising things outside the world of words.

Devouring.

 

Eager to touch, Kal-El responds, allows his hands to walk down the back of the man who transported him to the world of rooftops. Encouraged by responses given, he dares to lay his hands around Batman's hip, to his godlike ass. 

 

With more than a little pride, the Kryptonian notes, Mr. Playboy is responding just as burningly, if less outsidedly earnest. The tell signs are there, easy to read for super senses.     

***

Bruce, Vigilante of Gotham, tests the waters, tries desperately not to go astray in the diligent delight given to him. So freely and sincerely extended to a stranger. Compartmentalising lets him become encapsulated but separated from the gift so freely given. Giving Batman room for gathering information. Confirm a suspicion, if you will.

 

His experienced fingers locate, squeezing subtle, imperceptible, but effective (often unknown to the masses), pressure points. At the first selected point nothing happens. Peculiar. The second attempt provide for a less tender push, with strange result. The third attempt proposes the applying of more than one. 

Clark Kent is still standing upright, handing out keen, lovely tender kisses, but Batman is Batman.

***

“No”, Clark's inner voice shouts when Batman relentlessly pushes him away. 

 

A rough, now breathing voice, requires answers. Why did Clark act like he did? Why does he not lie on the brick floor after Batman's use of martial arts techniques? 

Growling, he insists that Clark, daring sexual man who does not move an eyelid when questioned by Batman, is not a meek, mild-mannered reporter. At least, not only that.   
  
"Who are you?"

 

Kal-El can not submit a lie: it pleases him, to have ruffled the demeanor of such a man. 

The heaven dances through Kal-El by the certainty, Bruce, himself, Gotham's protector is tilted a bit, because of him.

 

Everything organic in him responds without hesitation.   
If Bruce came back as his alter ego to intimidate information from Clark, the man he eagerly sucked dry a night ago, well, two can play that game. 

 

The rest demands courage. 

 

"Who are you?" Requires the man with many identities again.

 

Clark can do nothing but smile. Now it's Bats turn to be handled not so softly, Superman decides.

 

Ahead of that, for some necessary seconds, Superman grants the surrounding sounds passage through his super senses. Opening up to knowing. Surely, if any people or cameras can observe them, he will recognize it.

 

Pleased by the answer given by his power sensitivity, Kal-El finally allows himself to drown in the other man’s challenging and calculating eyes.

With restrained speed, careful not to not bruise, he embraces the Bat’s hips.   
  
"I'm", Clark begins, ready to tell

 

“Superman” Not stated as a question from Batman, but an absolute fact.   
  
He grabs the shirt of the mysterious undercover reporter and tears it in two. revealing a naked, wide, muscular chest. A sight that makes him swallow before applying a Batglare, demanding an House of El mark on the chest. 

 

Clark, with a humorous smile, nods before he moves the Bat's hands off of his body. A little super speed and he is wearing his iconic costume, red cape and all.   
  
"Now it's your turn to get a little flight," he laughs and draws Bruce tightly to his body.   
  
The way Batman stiffens when high in the air, prompts Clark to stop. Did he go too far? Batman had engaged in a rough approach to Clark Kent, so ... no. Ok, Clark thinks when he looks into the ferocious, yet calm, eyes. This man does not like to fly in the open air

 

"Put me down" the man in the bat costume rumbles. Clark decides to comply.

 

Well back on the rooftop, Bruce stand up to his full height, maybe a cm higher than Superman.

  
Batman growls again. This time it sounds like him validating Superman’s act of obedience . Does the sound represent full sentences? A Batman language, if you like? 

 

“What?” A perplexed Clark is pulled out of his inner monologue. “What are you doing?” Gotham's knight, on his inspection circling around Superman, has lifted the red cape.

 

Clark turns his neck in order to look over his shoulder, an enquiring smile on his face. The intended words melts to nothing on the tongue. Rao, he is magnificent, breathtakingly gorgeous with that radiant, censual body language.

Never has Clark known himself to respond so quickly, so naturally, to someone's appreciation of the aesthetic quality of his buttocks. 

 

It’s sublime, Clark feels, having the unwavering attention of this bigger than life man. The same person that has dedicated all of his life to Gotham, a hero. The person who kneeled for him in the dark. Led him to light in the dark. The very same that now draws Superman in, pulling him in by the red cloak. Clark feels hypnotized, so alive. 

 

The Night Bat now lets his hands greedily squeeze the body parts he admired just a little while ago, making the man in blue thank his lucky star for finding earth. Before an arm sneaks over Clark's hips and down, to Rao yes, laying around that happy, eager friend. Kal-El did not know he had risen to that extent. How could he, with all of his attention directed at Bruce.

 

***

A satisfied sound escapes Bruce before turning Clark around, letting them come face to face. 

 

Yes he can see it now, his eyes are blue like dreams of other worlds. That jaw, made to nibble and to touch. Luxurious lips leading to ecstasy should have led him to the truth. Not to forget the ridiculous clothes. How could he not have seen these muscles? Let's not forget the horrible glasses. Recognised the life radiating from all of him?  A mystery to be solved and maybe, if permitted to give, love?

 

And best of all, Superman, man of hope, Clark Kent, the man from the bar, want him. His body practically shouts out for Bruce's touch. "... and you need his caress," whispers his inner voice, hidden under the focus of Batman's mission. Handsome and brave, even smart. He can have it all, he hopes.

 

An unprecedented form of planning fills Batman's awareness. Lavishly persuaded to believe, this night Bruce is going to seduce this splendidly attractive man. Sway exhilarating cries of pleasure out of Clark's mouth. Perhaps even instigate the possibility to let himself feel Clark’s cock move inside him. If the possibility rose.  

That tremor in Superman's body tells him: this time none of them will be happy with a fast, public blow job.   
  
Perhaps the world's strongest man and hope will allow himself to be invited to Bruce's bed?

***

One more time, Clark's inner voice shouts when Bruce, with his covering mask, draws him in for a kiss. A deep, demanding kiss, the type you’re thankful to give your every essence into. Emboldens you to discover that you have capacity for more.   
Reassuring signs encourage hands to search for openings in the Super costume. Clark happily tutors. The trembling that goes through him when Bruce gets access to his bare skin is not caused by the cold.

 

Batman's fingers and hands lure plush moans out from Kal-El warm lungs.

Lavish fog fills the Kryptonian’s mind, but he must resist. Clark wants to give back this time. 

 

Wait," Clark almost whispers "I want to ...” His eyes goes to the place inbetween the knight’s

thighs. 

 

… And Bruce stops, smiling his special smile. One who reaches the eyes. Slowly, promising exquisite adventures with his eyes. Soft lips of affection answers Bruce. 

Batman presses distinct places on the armor. The uncovering of his penis is accomplished.  An unveiling that makes Superman praise Rao. 

 

Only Superman's pure willpower helps him from coming there and then. That cock is beautiful, thick and oh so happy to see Clark. it’s dripping from the slit on top of its head. 

 

Rao, that man can read his body like an open book.

 

Ready to ravish, Kal-El leans in, kisses lips that have done heavenly things to him. Allows his own naked, upper body to press up against the night’s armor, whispers:

 

“Thank you”, and goes down to that thing of wonder. 

 

Confidently, Clark’s fingers lay themselves around the warm cock. Smiling into Bruce’s eyes, he lets his wrist go up and down. Starts with lazy, teasing movements. Just to test the waters. Then Mr. investigating reporter does the little twist with his hand over the penis head. The reward is seeing the Bat tremble, because of him.

 

Eagerly, Clark licks, tastes the pre semen.

"Wait." something in the tone numbs something inside Clark when they reach his ears. Uncertainty rears its ugly head

 

With superspeed he unhands the sex god with the living eyes and vital kisses. Covers with clothes. Carefully awaits the rest of the message, hoping for a reason. 

*** 

Bruce studies him while trying to get his breath back. When he sees the signs of a misunderstanding in the water, icicles bite at him.

 

Bruce can see the door of opportunity closing. The possibility to never feel those fingers’ tenderness again. A prophecy he will never let come true.

 

"No" With Batman's deep baraton "I mean". He shakes his head, desperately trying to reach Clark, stopping the man from withdrawing. Unexpectedly steady, he opens one of the utility belt pockets and fishes a key. With increasing urgency he sees Clark raise an eyebrow.

 

"Can I, ... We Should not do this in full public." Bruce bends his head feeling everything slipping away. Dramatically Bruce chooses to take on the Brucie mask. A skewed, seductive smile, a suggestive eyebrow, calmed heartbeat, the whole routine (although half his face is covered), he invites Superman to the nearest penthouse. 

***

Astonishment jolts through Clark. What is this, his eyes don’t shine with the rhythm of the smile? The heartbeat has become calm, separating from the eagerness it just spoke. The flow of his blood, hormones, everything tells a new story. The play of a horny playboy's story.    
  


A sudden change back to Bruce allows Superman to realize he had physically backed away from the man. From Brucie, a mask, but not from the man behind. The individual who now tries to pull him back. Bewilderment and amazement battles in Clark, is Bruce trying to establish a deriving lie?    
  


"Sure, what do you want Bruce?"

 

This time he doesn’t hesitate. Steady steps bring Batman to Superman, but it’s Bruce who kisses Clark. Kisses with vivid eyes and greedy lips.

***

It’s not just he who responds sexually here, realizes Clark. How lucky is he that this mystery, the living chaos of a man and power.. and Clark Kent, meek, mild-mannered reporter, has caught his interest.   
  
"Come share my bed," Bruce asks.   
  
Who can say no to a gift of this size?

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this story.
> 
> I wanted to try to write a short (!) silly story while I was tired, creative and without a beta reader and see what I felt after putting it out there. 
> 
> Trying to be more brave and having fun ;)


End file.
